Archie's Files
by HeidiBug731
Summary: A collection of one shots focusing on Archie's analysis of individual citizens of Storybrooke accompanied by personal accounts of that person's deepest hopes, fears, and dreams.
1. Prince Charming

_Strong protective nature. Seems rooted in something beyond family ties or bonds of love. May be overanalyzing. More observation needed. - Dr. Archibald Hopper_

* * *

Prince. It was a title I never would have dreamed for myself, me being a lowly shepherd boy. And James, a name that doesn't belong to me. A name that belonged to a brother who I never knew.

Sometimes I think myself as a sham. How can I call myself a prince? How can I rule a kingdom? It was never my place, never my right.

Sometimes I think I'm pretending to be someone I'm not.

But then I remind myself this is, in fact, who I am. I might not have been a prince, but I became one. I might not have known the first thing about running a kingdom, but I learned. Just as I learned how to be a husband. Just as I am learning to be a father.

But I think about James every now and then, the brother whose name and title I carry. What was he like? What dreams did he have? Did he ever wonder for a minute if he'd once had another life? I will never know, would have never had the opportunity to wonder had he not died.

He was a part of me that I had lost before I even knew he existed.

George, sometimes I think about him too. Was he always so cruel? Or was it the lost of his son and the knowledge that I could never replace him that drove him mad?

I carry his son's name every day and it makes me think of what might have been, of what was, and what suddenly didn't exist anymore.

I have a family - a wife, a daughter, a grandson. And I hold them close every second I get. Because I know how quickly life can change and how what was there one moment can be gone the next.

I will never know James or King George as they once were, but I hold the thought of them in my memory along with my mother. Because they help remind myself of who I am and who I want to be.

Prince. Leader. Husband. Lover. Father. Protector.


	2. Snow White

_Seems obsessive compulsive in regards to tidiness, though otherwise mentally healthy and happy. May be overanalyzing. More observation needed. - Dr. Archibald Hopper_

* * *

I think about my mother sometimes. It's hard to remember. I was only a little girl at the time. I remember the warmth of her embrace and the joy in her laughter. I remember enough to know that having a mother is a precious thing.

But it's the smaller details like what she looked like and how her laughter actually sounded that's hard.

Sometimes it comes to me, her face, so clear in one instant that I think I really do remember. And then it starts to fade, and it seems the more I focus on it, the less clear the image becomes, and my mother starts slipping away from me.

That's when I start cleaning - washing dishes, sweeping floors, folding laundry. Somehow it seems, if I divide my attention between two things, give myself something effortless to think on, the memories come easier and her face shows clearer.

But if I only had my mother to think of, my house wouldn't be so tidy.

There's my father, how he was there one night and gone the next. Regina, how she'd nearly been a second mother to me and then slowly morphed into something sinister. Charming, all the times we've found each other and then lost each other again. Emma, my little girl whom I will never know as anything but an adult.

So much joy has been in my life and then taken away from me. In many ways, it's given back and then taken away again.

Sometimes the fear grips me, just for a moment, that I'm going to lose it all. Emma, Charming, Henry.

It's those moments, when the fear comes, that I clean because it helps my mind focus on what I have and not on what I might not have tomorrow.

That's why I try to live each moment to the fullest, to laugh and smile every chance I get, because I don't know if a time will come when I won't be able to laugh for a while.


	3. Archibald Hopper

_You received your PhD from a curse. - personal note_

* * *

It's not easy being a psychologist in a small town. You know everyone. It's hard to distance yourself from your personal history with whoever pays you a visit.

But you have to try.

That's why when Gold or Regina come into my office, I don't think on our history. I think on the future, on the possibility that they could become better people. I try to help them become something new, if they'll let me.

But sometimes it's hard to know if I'm doing the right thing. I've made so many mistakes in the past.

I try to do good. Sometimes I wonder if I have ever actually succeeded. I have condemned both Regina and Rumplestiltskin in previous years. At the time, it seemed like the right choice. Now, as I see them making efforts to change, I have to wonder. Can a choice be wrong at one point in time but right 28 years before?

I tell myself yes, but it doesn't make me feel any better.

It was easier being a cricket. "To error is human," as the fallacy goes. Cricket's don't error. At least, not in fallacies.

It was easier to believe in myself as a cricket. I could forget I was human.

When you're the only psychologist in town, who are you supposed to talk to? To whom can I explain that I doubt my decisions? No one would listen to me again if I ever once vocally questioned moral advice I had given.

I have files on people who have never actually come to see me. Who's going to psychoanalyze that? I'm certainly not.

There are days when I feel like I'm doing good. And there are other days when I feel like I've done everything wrong.

It's in those moments when I look at Pongo, who looks up at me in return with expectant eyes, his tail wagging in excitement. That's when I realize that at least in one aspect of my life it's impossible for me to do wrong.

And I remember why Storybrooke Archibald Hooper adopted a dog. He needed a companion.

Pongo is my psychologist. For him, I will always do good.


	4. Emma Swan

_Suffers effects from long-term abandonment as a child. Possible disguised low self-esteem. Marked improvement shown from reunion with son and parents. Will continue to observe. - Dr. Archibald Hopper_

* * *

When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with finding out who I was, my identity. Like all orphans, I suppose, this meant finding my parents. For some reason as a child it's hard to understand yourself without your parents.

The foster system didn't help. I wanted a mother and father, not people to watch over me. And let's face it, the system needs to do a better job approving people for the role. Some people in foster care just aren't very pleasant.

I ran away a few times, as most do. But they always found me, and I was always brought back. I couldn't wait until I turned eighteen.

I choose the name "Swan" because to me it meant freedom, that I could pick up and fly away anytime I wanted, like the geese that fly south for the winter. But I didn't want to be a goose - geese are ugly.

I've heard that a swan represents balance, grace, and inner beauty. It makes me laugh to think of it. Just because you choose a name doesn't mean you automatically inherit the qualities matching it.

Regardless, the name is still important to me. It was the one part of me at eighteen that I had chosen for myself, a piece of my identity that I had constructed on my own, without anyone telling what to do. I was going to find myself, with or without my parents.

It's true that I found myself in bad ways. I was Bonnie to Neal's Clyde for a while. But I knew that identity wouldn't last forever. It could never really be mine anyway. It was an identity that had been taken by someone else, already written into history.

But I guess the role attracted me because it was something I could mold myself to. Even without my eighteen year old resolve I was still lost without guidance. I was the only one I could rely on, and I knew how to steal.

I dropped that role pretty quickly after getting out of prison. That swan pendant was the only thing stopping me from throwing those car keys in the river. And that yellow Volkswagen. I wanted it, ever since I had first laid eyes on it.

They say yellow is the color of insane people. Maybe I am one.

I'm blonde. They say blondes are dumb. I've done some dumb things in my past, but I think I've proven that cliché wrong.

I went from thief to bail bonds agent to Sherriff. I protect people, and bring down those who would do wrong or hurt others. I'm more than an animal, a color, or a car.

I am Snow White and Prince Charming's daughter. Twenty eight years of searching for my parents, and I find myself at even more of a loss knowing I am their daughter than I had been before. It seems like such a lofty title to uphold.

But I'm more than that, too. I'm Henry's mother.

And it's apparent that in this I have discovered more about myself than I had even known. It's amazing to think of all the good that has come into my life since he found me.

I'd been searching for my identity for years, and as soon as he was born I gave him away.

But we are together now, him and my parents. And each day I find I discover and more and more about myself.

For the first time in 28 years, I am home.


	5. Regina Mills

_Holds back regarding relationship with mother. Should be explored in future sessions. See previous notes regarding several other topics to explored in future sessions. - Dr. Archibald Hopper_

* * *

When I was a little girl, my mother told me I would be a princess. She put me in elaborate dresses, and I would twirl for her. We'd lay out my stuffed animals and they would be my many subjects and I would give them duties to perform for the kingdom. Mom would act as my royal adviser and occasional royal magician.

I loved that as a child. What little girl doesn't dream of being a princess?

I was mother's girl through and through . . . right up until the first time I saw a woman riding a horse.

Mother scoffed and said it was no place for a lady to be riding like that, her legs on either side like a man. The horse was meant to carry her, like a princess. She was not meant to race it or perform jumps.

But I was mesmerized. The woman looked so beautiful in her riding suit, more elegant than any dress I had ever worn. And it all just looked like so much fun and so exciting.

I begged my parents to let me take riding lessons. Mother forbade it. But my father, who usually caved to my mother's wishes, eventually gave in. I'm not sure what it was. I think he understood how badly I wanted it and just didn't want to deny me the opportunity.

From then on, I wasn't mother's girl anymore. I wanted to have a royal stallion during our princess plays. She got rid of all my horse toys.

But there was no going back. I was in love, first with an animal and then with a boy.

I knew mother wasn't happy, but I was always searching for her approval, for her to accept me as I was, even though I had changed from that adoring little girl.

I had loved my mother once, very deeply. And I still love her now, though that love is plagued by heartache.

She only ever wanted what was best for me.

And I only ever wanted her to love me as unconditionally as I have loved her.


	6. Henry Mills

_Improvement still to be made regarding relationship with mother and fitting in with peers. Previous notes detailing mental health concerns regarding a cursed fairytale land and related material have been resolved. - Dr. Archibald Hopper_

* * *

It took me a while to notice all the people in Storybrooke, how odd they were. Sometimes it was like they couldn't even remember what had happened the day before.

What really got me thinking, though, were my classes. I suppose I was too young to notice at first, but then I realized I was the only one moving from one grade to the next. Everyone else stayed in the same grade.

Of course, when I pointed this out, no one believed me. Sometimes, I doubted myself.

And then I started talking to people, realizing that none of them could remember how they met or came to Storybrooke in the first place.

Except for mom. She was the only one who didn't seem in a haze, though she didn't like my questions. She put me into sessions with Archie, who told me that Grace had always been in my class.

But I told him that wasn't true. I had made a list the year before of all my classmates, and now they were all a year behind me.

But I couldn't convince him. He was in a haze just like everyone else.

I could ask mom things like what we'd had for dinner the day before and how she had come to Storybrooke and when she first met people. She always had an answer. Always.

Although she also told me my classmates had always been the same. She thought, and maybe Archie did too, that I was having trouble making friends. Which was true.

Sometimes I really did wonder if I was going crazy or just making excuses for not hanging out with people. Sometimes I thought it was all in my imagination.

But then Mary Margret handed me a story book.

And I knew I wasn't crazy.


	7. Mr Gold

_Has trouble letting people in, even loved ones. Possible indication of awareness that his work is destructive. Is either addicted or working toward unshakable end goal. Will conduct further observation. - Dr. Archibald Hopper_

* * *

She's different.

I knew the moment I first laid eyes on her that she would be something special. I just couldn't comprehend what that meant. She got inside my head, my heart. And now . . .

She messes up all my plans, tries to get inside them, tries to help. But it's too dangerous, I can't let her. I've made too many enemies. It's not safe.

The Dark One still has its hold on me. She wants me to be different, to be better, and I want to change. But I can't cast it all aside. I need the power, just for a while longer. There's still so much to do. And then, once everything is done, maybe . . .

She wants me to let her in, and I so want to. But I can't. It's just not the right time. And if she knew everything . . . It's not safe.

She should run, or at the very least give up on me. I know I'm not the most pleasant man to deal with. Yet she stays. I could ask her to leave, it would be better for her that way, but I don't want her to go and I'm not sure she'd listen.

If she left, life would be easier. She wouldn't get so upset when I hold back, trying to protect her. I wouldn't have to worry about her meddling in dangerous things.

But I enjoy her company, and more than that . . . she means more to me that I care to admit.

She messes up all my plans, but I'll take a little messiness.

I don't know how much time with her I'll really have.


	8. Belle

_Shows few to no signs regarding undeniable negative effects from long-term captivity. May be repressed. Further observation needed. - Dr. Archibald Hopper_

* * *

When Rumpelstiltskin came to my kingdom and asked me as his price for saving it, I told myself to do the brave thing.

In reality, I was terrified.

I thought I would hate my life there. But I refused to live in misery. I would make the best of it, as meager as it may be. I would do the brave thing and not crumple but live on. I would continue with my life, however confined.

And then I began to notice pieces of him, small flashes at first, that didn't make him seem so inhuman. His laughter was contagious. His pain was visible, though covered. And he didn't treat me unfairly. He seemed far beyond the monster I had imagined.

Is a monster truly a monster if you can fall in love with it, if it can fall in love with you in return?

True, he cast me aside. But I know fear when I see it. I have felt much of it since the day he took me. And if I can overcome my fears, then I can teach him to do the same.

The Queen captured me, and for a day or two I nearly despaired that I may never return him.

But I reminded myself to do the brave thing. If Rumpelstiltskin and the Yaoguai could turn out to not be the monsters they were expected, then perhaps the Evil Queen could turn out the same.

It was harder with her. Unlike my time with Rumple, I was confined to my cell. The lack of social interaction threatened to drive me mad. So I made conversation with the guards. They ignored me for the most part, but I conversed with them anyway. When conversation proved unsuccessful, I counted the days I had been in myself. I had few methods of keeping myself occupied.

When Regina came by, we talked . . . in a sense. I tried to learn about her, though she had no desire of sharing. But I had faced resistance of that kind before. She held pain too, I could tell. It was buried under layers of anger.

I often wondered as to what happened to make her the way she was. I never found out, she never told me. But I know she wasn't born that way. Something terrible happened.

I've fought more than one beast before. And in the end, I couldn't hate her anymore than I hated Rumple. And even when I found myself free from her, I still couldn't resent her.

Hate is easy. It's looking past it that requires bravery.


	9. August Booth

_Suspected guilt from falling to temptation. Apparent pressure from unreasonable expectations. Will continue to search for. - Dr. Archibald Hopper_

* * *

I was terrified when my father put me in that wardrobe. What small child wouldn't have been? It was a lot of responsibility to handle, and I didn't want to leave my home or my family.

I knew that life in the new world would be hard. I just didn't realize how much.

In the Enchanted Forest, I had my father. I had Jiminy. They always encouraged me to do good.

It was easier then.

Here, I had no one. I was on my own. But I did have horrible foster homes and rebellious children enough to know that I had to escape. And I had a baby I knew nothing about how to take care of.

I should have taken her with me. I know that would have been the right thing to do. And it eats at me, even after all these years.

I tell myself she wouldn't have survived had I brought her along. I wouldn't have known how to care for her. And maybe that is true. But it doesn't change the fact that I abandoned her.

I left her to fend for herself. Is it any surprise the life I would later find her living? It was my doing. My fault.

Maybe I'd feel differently had I actually done a good job of watching over her when I grew older, but I didn't. Temptations and bad choices followed me throughout my life. Money, lust, and power drew me in. I made no friends along the way, and I have no one to blame but myself.

My one solace was the thought that at least in a world without magic, I couldn't turn into wood for my poor deeds. Ha! What a joke!

I did such a good job of fooling myself. The truth is that I failed, horribly, and I don't know how I can ever show my face to my father or Jiminy again. What would they say to me?

I have lost them, in more ways than one.


	10. Dr Whale

_Suffers suicidal thoughts from grim family history. Counseling has been scheduled. Will continue to monitor. - Dr. Archibald Hopper_

* * *

My mother was a botanist of her own making. She loved flowers, grew them, bred them, studied them. We had a beautiful elaborate garden at our home, and a laboratory for her work.

That's how I first became interested in science. I wanted to learn the workings of the world, the nature of life and death and the structure that held it all together.

My father and brother never joined us. They simply didn't have the interest in such things.

I worked with my mother every day, learning, studying, creating. Eventually we added a few of my own flowers to the garden. It was only the beginning of my scientific career on the study of life.

But for all my work, I never gained her level of understanding. I despaired at every failure, while my mother smiled at each of hers.

She said that failures were part of a process. We could never learn to do right if we didn't know what we had done wrong.

She saw death that way too. She said things had to die for life to grow. I thought she had been talking about plants, how seeds will feed off the nutrients of dead parents or grandparents.

But the more I think of when she'd said it and how soon after she passed away, the more I think she was speaking directly to me, asking me not to hold on to her death, not view it as a loss that had to be recovered.

And maybe I could have, if not for father. I think I was too much like her, that he saw her every time he looked me. That's why he would act so cold or uncaring. It just pained him too much to do otherwise.

I wanted to bring her back for him as much as myself.

If only I had thought to listen to her instead of my own foolish desires.

My poor, poor Gerhardt.

What have I done?


End file.
